March of the Inevitable: A War in Winter
by SpartAl412
Summary: The Forces of Chaos are on the march once more as the Storm draws ever closer. Heroes and Champions among the Forces of Order are chosen to play their role and among them are two warriors from the realms of Men. As the battle-lines are drawn and pieces moved into place, the two must rally a divided people against another evil which threatens to bring only death and ruin to Thedas.
1. Chapter 1

**Foreword:**

**Last November, I set up a poll regarding which Warhammer group I should do a crossover about and it ended with a tie between The Empire and The Bretonnians. So here it is, a tale which will involve two heroes from both major human nations of Warhammer Fantasy.**

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><p>A chill wind blew across the eaves of the Drakwald and the mournful howls of wolves echoed in the distance as the Chaos Moon of Morrslieb hung high in the night sky. Within the depths of a natural cave, a low orange glow could be seen as a fire raged. Upon the walls of the cave's interior, there were ancient and crude paintings depicting men, wolves and bloody hands.<p>

This was a holy place, dedicated to a god whose faithful taught that Men should be strong and capable of taking care of themselves. It was a place consecrated in the name of Ulric, God of Winter, Wolves and Battle. Within the cave, seated by the raging fire was a single figure, a Warrior Priest of the Wolf God who whispered a series of mantras and prayers to his deity.

Clad in an old, simply designed but well maintained suit of full plate armour, the Warrior Priest's wore a fur cloak made from the pelt of a grey wolf, the skull of the same beast formed into a mask which concealed the face of the holy man. A mighty war hammer lay next to the priest, a light mist of cold air rose from the weapon as the head of it was surrounded by a cold mist. In the hands of the Warrior Priest, he held a small cloth pouch which contained a powdered mixture of herbs and various substances which he poured onto one hand before casting it into flames which suddenly flared more brightly.

The fires soon began to shift in colour, from its natural orange light, it became white as snow and the heat it had once generated became waves of cold. The Warrior Priest's eyes rolled up no longer looked upon the world of flesh and material but rather upon the world of the spirit as he was lost in the throes of a vision once more. He knew that the Storm was drawing closer, a great tempest from the dark north which would engulf the world in destruction and ruin.

The slaves of the Dark Gods were on the march yet again, but this time there was something different about it. In his vision, the Warrior Priest did not see the cold lands of Kislev or his homeland of the Empire, but rather, he saw a place not quite known to him. The vision showed him a strange, foreign land of sand and stone where ancient towers of iron stood, it was not the desolate realm of the Land of the Dead, rather it was where life still flourished.

The vision then changed, he saw an ever-shifting landscape of madness and nightmares where the children of the Ruinous Powers resided. Amid this place of horrors, there floated a city of shifting architecture with designs which should simply be impossible to exist and yet it did in that realm where the natural laws of the material universe held no meaning. The City had a name which even the Warrior Priest dared not to speak of for even one such as he had right cause to fear it.

The City drifted across the endless void where the daemons resided and soon it came to a stop near another City of sheer blackness. The two cities floated near one another and the Warrior Priest remained uncertain of what he saw but in his heart, he knew that there was something important about this second city of darkness. The vision then began to fade from his mind's eye as his spirit was tugged back into its mortal coil and in that last failing moment he saw one last thing.

He saw a woman, a pretty young lady with hair of raven black and yellow eyes that gleamed with a wicked intellect. Dressed in barbaric garments which revealed too much flesh to be modest but what truly drew the attention of the Warrior Priest was that which lay within her. He saw life, stirring within the woman's womb, one filled with a power which even he could feel and the shadow she cast was not one of a human being, but that of a wyrm.

This woman and the life which grew or will grow was somehow important to the designs of the Ruinous Powers and the Warrior Priest knew that the Dark Gods could not succeed in whatever they sought. The return to his mortal form left the Warrior Priest momentarily disoriented as it always did but he simply shrugged off the effects with a mere shake of his head. Still having many questions about what he had seen, the holy man who was named Albrecht Krieger reached for the handle of his blessed war hammer.

Feeling the comforting weight of his weapon as he placed the shaft upon his lap, the former Knight of the White Wolf knew of a place which could answer the meanings of his vision.

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><p>'Onwards men! Onwards!' roared Lothaire du Gisoreux as he plunged his lance into the chest of a Gor and continued to shout 'For the Lady! For the King! For the Duke! For Bretonnia!' Foul ichor spattered the Knight's armour as he felt the tip of his weapon explode from the back of the beastman he had impaled before skewering another of the poor bastards. His mighty steed crushed another of the beastmen as the charge of his fellow Knights trampled all that stood in their way.<p>

Lothaire's heart sang with a feral joy for this was what it meant to be a Knight of Bretonnia! To oppose the might of Chaos, the greatest of all evils, to stare down the unholy abominations of the Dark Gods and stab them in the face! The fields of war was the crucible of a Knight's existence, it was here where honour and glory could be claimed in the name of the Lady.

His plate armour was masterfully crafted with the edges of each section of the suite being well detailed with gilded rose vines. The Fleur-de-lys insignia of the Lady was proudly borne upon both of his pauldrons, knee plates and the front section of his Armet helmet. What was most striking about his equipment was the ornate white ivory antlers which rose up from the side of his helmet as a magnificent cloak and tabard of red and black with the hart symbol of his home dukedom was emblazoned upon both pieces of cloth.

More Beastmen were trampled under the charge of the Bretonnians, their screams of terror and pain were music to Lothaire's ears. It mattered little that the cursed Chaos Moon glared balefully down at them, in fact, Lothaire hoped that the eyes of the Dark Gods were upon them just so that the Ruinous Powers could see their minions die in droves against the tide of righteous fury. The ground underneath them began to rise up in inclination and Lothaire knew that they would soon be ascending the hillside.

It was rather unusual though that the beastmen were gathering up here near the Iranna Mountains where normally they should be fighting greenskins, something was drawing the creatures here and he did not know why. It did not matter much to Lothaire anyway though for a monster was a monster, whether it was some dumb brutish orc, a freakish hybrid of man and beast or a walking corpse that needed to be kicked back into Morr's realms and for men like him, problems with such creatures were easily solved with the pointy end of a lance or sword. Speaking of which as his steed began have some difficulty climbing up the rocky terrain, the Bretonnian Paladin called for his Knights of the Realm to slow their advance.

Horns were soon being sounded as the Knights reluctantly slowed their steeds and soon each of the armoured warriors dismounted for the terrain would be unfavorable for the horses. Looking back to see the carnage his Knights had caused while the Men at Arms followed after them, Lothaire smiled underneath the plates of his bloodied helmet for a warrior of the Fay had once told him that each dead servant of Chaos would be a dagger in the Dark Gods. Dismounting his armoured steed, Lothaire left his lance in the side of his horse's saddle and he unsheathed his favorite weapon, a Heavy Flanged Mace of such size that it would require both hands to use.

He always liked the feel of crushing bones, shattering skulls and reducing the brains of his foes to jelly. As he gripped the haft of his weapon he felt a comforting sense of warmth from the weapon as the blessing placed upon it caused the head of the mace to generate a soft, cyan glow. Looking up to the mountains where he could see the campfires of the beastmen army, Lothaire gently stretched his neck left and right while hearing the gentle cracks from where the spine connected to the skull.

He was going to go up there with his brothers in arms and he was going to beat those overgrown, mutated goats so hard that even the Dark Gods would feel it. Grinning underneath his helmet as he felt the feral anticipation of the coming battle, Lothaire ordered his fellow Knights to advance.

'Come on men!' shouted Lothaire with his usual enthusiasm which he would also show before feasts and holidays 'Ten _Ecu_ to the man that kills the Beastlord!' And with that, the men around Lothaire could not help but share his enthusiasm as well.

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><p>The journey through the forest was always one which filled Albrecht Krieger with a sense of wariness for the woods of the Drakwald was the haunt of Beastmen, Greenskins Giant Spiders, Mutants and Bandits. His breath misted in the cold air as he held up a lantern in hand to light his way while in the other hand, he carried his war hammer. The vision Albrecht had seen filled him with many questions as the image of the raven haired woman with the shadow of a dragon was etched into his memory.<p>

The animal sounds of the forest surrounded him and thankfully, he had neither heard nor smelled any trace of beastmen or the greenskins. His travel would soon prove uneventful until he finally arrived at his destination. Unlike the cave which was something of a shrine for the ancient and mortal followers of Ulric, this place he went to was entirely something else.

Standing amidst a lonely glade was a series of ancient, moss covered menhirs which stood in a perfect circle, each one depicted men and wolves battling against beastmen. At the center of the circle was stone cauldron which was filled with water blessed by the ancient priests of the Old Faith. Many times had Albrecht Krieger been to this place and each time, it appeared in different places across Middenland.

Certain rites and rituals were needed to be preformed first before Albrecht could make use of the shimmering water within the Stone Cauldron and Warrior Priest quickly began as soon as possible. Intoning the name of his patron god, Ulric, Albrecht then began to whisper prayers to other deities such as Taal, Rhya and Morr. Ripples began to appear within the waters of the Cauldron and Albrecht knew that his prayers were heard.

Setting his lantern down and propping his hammer by the Cauldron, he then began to remove his wolf-skull mask and he pulled down the part of the fur pelt which covered his head. Ancient, wizened and scarred features were revealed for Albrecht Krieger was a man who had lived for almost six decades. A single good eye which was green in colour was looking at the reflection of himself while the other eye was a milky white orb, his beard had grown longer and even more unkempt as his graying hairs were now mostly white with age.

Taking a deep breath while steeling himself for what was to come next, Albrecht then leaned forward and dunked his head into the cauldron. Daggers of cold pierced into the nerves of his face as the Warrior Priest was forced to maintain his consciousness while focusing on his last image of the woman. Soon he began to feel the tug of the spirit world again and with it, he left his mortal coil to see what it was the gods had meant for him to see.

He saw a city, a rather mundane and normal looking place clearly built by the hands of Men. Its architecture was unknown to Albrecht Krieger for it did not bear any designs he was familiar with. The vision then shifted and he saw a mighty wyrm with blood red scales and flames of deep purple which flew over the city while an army of darkness and corruption laid siege to the city.

At first, he had believed the wyrm to be one of the Encarmine Dragons which haunted the places of old death but he was quick note the corruption that lay within the beast. The creatures which swarmed the city were somewhat akin to the Damned of Chaos; each was a horrible parody of mortal beings and filled with nothing but the desire to bring slaughter and bloodshed. The city was doomed, thought Albrecht Krieger for in the many wars he had fought, he had learned how to tell the flow of a battle, until he heard a loud screech in the winds.

To horizon, away from the city, three griffons with feathers of grey flew over a mighty army which sought to vanquish the corrupted creatures. Drawn from many lands and different races, they each stood as united as the armies of the Empire did during the Great War when Men, Dwarfs and Elves fought against the Hordes of Asavar Kul. Among the army, he saw that raven haired woman again.

The Griffons and the army charged headlong into the besieging force with a mighty crash of flesh and steel. Acts of heroism and valor were played out as among them there also stood out, a company of men and women, each marked for greatness. He saw a bronze skinned giant of a man cleaving swarms of the corrupted things alongside a red bearded dwarf who was as fearsome as a Daemon Slayer, a swarthy elf whose movements were difficult to follow and another woman who wielded a bow while singing a song in a tongue which sounded similar to Breton.

There were others in their company as well; other heroes of whom Albrecht Krieger knew had a part to play in this. The vision then began to become less clear as physical lungs burned with the demand for precious air. Quickly returning to his physical form once more, the Warrior Priest suddenly rose up from the cauldron with a deep gasp of air.

Filling his lungs with the cold night air, Albrecht felt ill at ease for his vision answered nothing of his questions. What was he meant to see? He thought, what was this foreign place and the army which attacked it? As ever, such mysteries remained unclear to the Warrior Priest who placed his skull mask back on and he retrieved his hammer and lantern.

As he turned around, he noticed something unsettling and off about his surroundings. Glancing left and right, he saw that nothing was out of the ordinary and yet his instincts told him otherwise. Having learned long ago to be mindful of what he could not see, he set his lantern down again and pulled out a horn from the side of his belt.

Ancient sigils and prayers dedicated to Ulric were inscribed into the horn and the Warrior Priest placed his lips upon the bottom of it and he let out a loud note which almost sounded like the howl of a wolf. Nothing happened at first but after a few seconds, the temperature around him drastically dropped as the night clouds further darkened above him and snow began to fall from the sky. The snow that fell began to increase in quantity until it practically became a blizzard which began to cover the glade in a bed of snow.

Throughout this time, Albrecht Krieger kept a watchful eye on his surroundings until he saw movement among the trees around him. He saw that the trees themselves moved with each one taking an almost humanoid shape. Dryads he realized as he gripped his hammer with both hands and the cold mist which surrounded his hammer became a thick coating of ice.

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><p>Stomping his booted foot down upon the skull of a beastman, Lothaire felt the satisfying snap of the creature's spine as he swung his heavy mace into the chest of another and pulverizing the thing's ribcage and guts. The Knight began to sing a rather bawdy but catchy song he had once heard the Peasant Men at Arms sing at a tavern as he crushed the skulls of more beastmen. Blocking the thrust of a Bestigor's glaive by bringing up the haft of his mace, Lothaire swiftly followed up with a knee kick to the beastman's exposed stomach and the creature bent over as the breath was knocked out of its lungs.<p>

The Paladin then swiftly brought his mace down in a murderous overhead arc which crumpled the thing's skull and the crude helmet that protected it. The mystic light which emanated from his mace shined as bright as the beacon of a lighthouse, he could feel the loathing of his weapon towards such unclean creatures and its desire to purge them from the land. He sometimes wondered if perhaps the magic within his mace may sometimes affect his mind for he had heard stories of such dire weapons existing, he supposed that as long as it made him feel a bit bloodthirsty only towards monsters and Chaos-worshipers, he would be happy enough to oblige it.

Lothaire's fellow knights must have been a glorious sight to behold as each man fought with courage and valor. He saw a trio of his comrades fighting back to back in a triangular formation with swords and shields as each man protected the other's back and flank while lashing out with precise stabs and slashes. Another group of Knights had formed a shield wall which the beastmen battered against while two more groups flanked the beasts from the sides.

Surveying the foe to see if their leader was about, Lothaire saw one particularly large and shaggy looking Beastman who was holding back while protecting a wizened looking creature. Quickly he deduced that the former was leader for he noted how much better armed it was and much to his disdain, he noted that the latter was a shaman of sorts. The two leaders were standing close to a pillar of white stone which he recognized as of being one of the Waystones used by the Fay.

'There is their leader men!' roared the boisterous Paladin as he pointed towards the enemy chieftain who took note of Lothaire and it hefted a mighty axe which looked like it may have once belonged to an orc.

The Chieftain bellowed a roar of challenge and the Paladin noted the way the shaman looked to their leader and it actually laid a clawed hand on the thing's arm while speaking in their debased tongue. Judging from his own experience, it seemed that Lothaire and his men had interrupted something which the beastmen had been in the middle of, probably some nefarious black magic ritual. Can't be having none of that now, thought Paladin as he mimicked the Chieftain's movement and pointed his mace at it.

The shaman tugged at the Chieftain's arm again and the leader quickly delivered a powerful backhanded slap to the shaman, knocking the withered thing to the ground and it bellowed again while roaring a praise to the Blood God, Khorne. If that overgrown goat wanted to offer his skull to its foul god then it would have to work for it, thought Lothaire as the Bestigors parted before their leader. The Knights of the Realm understood the challenge that was issued and each man stepped aside to watch this moment of glorious, single combat.

Striding forward to meet this foe, Lothaire then planted the head of his bloodied mace to the ground and he knelt while offering a prayer to the Lady of the Lake. The Chieftain held its ground as it allowed Lothaire to make his prayers and in turn, it shouted foul blasphemies to the sky in honour of the Blood god once more. Rising up to his feet as soon as his prayer was finished, Lothaire felt a comforting sensation within his soul as if the Lady had imparted a small blessing upon him.

Studying his opponent for a moment, Lothaire could see that despite the gloom, his foe was quite fearsome looking indeed. Clad in armour which also looked like it may have once belonged to a Knight, glowing dark crimson runes were etched upon the blade of its axe. It looked like he would be facing a an enemy with an ensorcelled weapon thought the Paladin with a bit of eagerness for the greater the foe, the greater amount of glory would be attained.

Its fur was of a dark colour, black or perhaps a deep red he thought as eyes filled with hell-fire looked at him with hate and rage. The Chieftain was probably as tall as a Kurgan with a physique which would match one of the barbarians from the Wastes and what was also notable was the impressive set of horns it had. What started as two blackened trunks of bone-like material rose and spread out as magnificently as that of a hart's, a fine trophy its horns would make thought Lothaire, he would probably have to aim low then.

The Chieftain scraped its right hoof upon the soil and it let loose another loud roar before charging at the paladin with the strength and speed of a bull. Roaring a war cry of his own, Lothaire sprinted towards his foe with one his mace held in one hand. The Chieftain then brought its axe up for an overhead chop and the Paladin saw the dark runes upon his foe's weapon glow even brighter as if it were anticipating the kill.

Lothaire then thrust his mace forward, he loosened his grip a little to allow the handle to slide between his armoured fingers and was rewarded with the satisfying impact as the head of the mace connected with a loud crash against the armour of the Chieftain. His foe staggered back from the unexpected strike, a trick Lothaire had picked up from a great warrior he recently had made the acquaintance of. Pulling the mace back and quickly stepping to the side while shifting his grip so that both of his hands could hold on to the weapon, he heard the Chieftain take deep gasps of air and the Paladin was quick to take advantage of this.

Swinging his mace low and aiming for the knees of the Chieftain, he struck the mutant on the side of its left knee cap and he heard the loud snap of bone as the creature shrieked in pain and agony. The brutish hybrid toppled to its side and as it fell, Lothaire quickly brought his mace crashing down upon its spine before it even hit the ground. Again, he heard the loud snap of bone as he shattered the thing's spinal cord and he thought with disappointment that it had been a bit too easy.

With a shrug, he then turned his gaze upon the shaman who had an almost stunned looked upon its goat face. The creature then pointed a clawed finger at him while holding up a crude wooden staff which was adorned with pieces of bone and small dark green stones he recognized to be wyrdstone. The air around them suddenly began to become much colder as the shaman enacted a foul spell and Lothaire was forced to sprint towards the beastman spell-caster.

Roaring the name of Bretonnia while bringing his mace up again in and preparing to unleash a horizontal swing which would crush the shaman's skull he suddenly then heard a rattling sound akin to the metal links of chains. Lothaire then began to feel something wrap tightly against his limbs as he was about to smash the shaman and he looked back to see a gaping maw of azure light dragging him closer to it. He saw his fellow knights quickly move to help them but one loud bleat from the shaman came and the Bestigors which had been watching the duel were swift to charge into the ranks of Bretonnian Knights.

Lothaire struggled with all of his might as he shouted curses and insults at the foul shaman. More and more chain links began to lash out from the glowing maw with each one latching on to him while further restricting his own movements. The mad shaman capered and danced with a maddened energy and Lothaire began to hear a horrible series of whispers into his ears.

Not like this! Desperately thought the Paladin as he continued to struggle against the chains for the first in a very long time, he began to feel a sense of terror creep into his heart. The last thing which Lothaire saw before being thrown into the Realm of Chaos was the Waystone pillar glowing ever brighter and he heard the cackling shaman's voice turn into a shriek of anguish as a singularly loud bestial roar echoed from behind the foe.

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><p>The Dryads kept their distance from Albrecht Krieger as he carefully watched them while adopting a defensive stance. Although such creatures were very rare to find outside of the haunted forest known as Athel Loren, the Warrior Priest had faced the things before, back when he was still a Knight of the White Wolf. Why they were here was a mystery to him but one which would have to be answered later for the Dryads were dangerous and malevolent things.<p>

He saw one creatures shift its form and adopt the image of a comely elf maiden whose beauty almost made Albrecht wish to lower his guard, almost. Gritting his teeth and steeling his mind from its insidious charm, he quickly broke its beguiling power in same way as he would with the daemonic handmaidens of Slaanesh. Albrecht loudly howled like the wolves of the forest, an ancient war cry used by the faithful of Ulric and he felt the strength of his god imbue him with a measure of more power.

The Dryads angrily hissed and shifted back to their hideous forms as they charged the Warrior Priest with arms which ended in sharpened claws. One of the Dryads swung its right arm in a backhanded sweep which would have snapped the neck of Albrecht had it connected but he managed to step back in to allow the wooden limb to pass over his face and he swung his hammer upwards. The Dryad shrieked in pain as he felt the impact of his weapon connect with its arm, wood and sap from the creature exploded in a shower of frozen splinters.

The hammer which had faithfully served Albrecht Krieger for so many decades was blessed by the Wolf God in his aspect of Winter. Each time the Warrior Priest struck an opponent, their bodies would be wracked with agony as the imbuement upon the weapon would cause wounds to freeze and blacken with frostbite. Sometimes though, when a strike is particularly mighty indeed, the hammer's power would instantly freeze a target before the very impact of his weapon would cause the foe to shatter like glass.

Ducking under the strike of another and smashing the trunk-like legs of one of his attackers, Albrecht was thankful for the divine magic within the Horn for creatures such as the Dryads were greatly slowed by winter's chill. Despite his advanced years, Albrecht proved to still be quite fast and strong as he smashed the chest of a Dryad and shattered the head of another with an overhead slam. The creatures of course fought back with both savagery and ferocity but their movements slowed even further as the cold wind grew stronger.

'Enough!' roared deep, booming voice which shook the trees and the earth, causing Albrecht to stumble for a moment before recovering and taking a step back. He saw the Dryads look behind them for a long moment before they cast their gazes back to him, he could see the hate in the eyes of the creatures and their desire to rend him limb from limb. The Warrior Priest gave them a challenging look for he had no fear of them, the Dryads reluctantly began to back away and Albrecht realized that there was a mist cold mist which partly obscured his vision.

From the mist he saw two figures slowly draw closer to him with both making not a single sound with each step. Albrecht Krieger narrowed his eyes as he soon came face to face with a pair of tall, slender and pale skinned beings he knew well enough were elves. One was clearly a male with cloud white hair and eyes of green while the other was a female with eyes that were also of a similar colour but hair of midnight black.

Both of the elves were garbed in garments of dark brown and green with each one carrying a wooden staff which was topped with an emerald-looking jewel. The female elf looked to Albrecht with a cold, disdainful expression as if he were nothing more than a particularly loathsome vermin while the male elf looked to him with a more neutral one. The elf woman then muttered something in a song-like tongue which Albrecht could detect the spiteful tone within while the other elf said something to her before casting his gaze towards Albrecht.

'Lower your weapon, human for we wish only to speak' said the male elf in a thickly accented but understandable Reikspiel and Albrecht only lowered his hammer by a slight inch.

'We are not your enemies, _Kegh-mon_!' spat the female elf with disdain as she spoke every word.

'Then why do you bring these… creatures here into the _Drakwald_' replied the Warrior Priest as glanced towards the Dryads who still eyed him with murderous intent.

'They are here for our protection from the Great Enemy, human' spoke the male elf in a cold yet calm manner. At closer look Albrecht realized, they had a somewhat similar look and he guessed that both elves were siblings.

'And it is quite obvious that we should have brought more had we expected your barbaric savagery' added the female elf whose attitude was beginning to grate on Albrecht's nerves as he tightened the grip on his hammer.

'Barbaric savagery?' asked the Warrior Priest with barely concealed hostility for if he had his Wolf-Kin with him, he would order them to rush these elves and he would break their hands and teeth for such impudence. 'I am not the one whose people launch massacres into Bretonnia every spring!' continued Alberecht as he took a step forwards with his hands tightly gripped around his hammer and the Dryads themselves took another step forward.

'I said enough!' roared the male elf in a commanding tone as he slammed the bottom of his staff to the ground which caused a slight tremor of the earth and he then gave a hard look to his companion who responded with a defiant look of her own while remaining silent. The male elf then returned his attention to Albrecht and continued 'there is no need for us to be enemies on this day for we have come bearing a message'

'And what would this message be then, elf?' questioned Albrecht rather suspiciously for he had no particular fondness for most elves of whom he found to be overly arrogant, imperious and having a rather condescending, smug sense of superiority when dealing with Men. There were perhaps a few he had respect for, but most of his dealing with the Elder Race were alliances of convenience against the beastmen or battles against murderous corsairs.

'The Storm is coming' replied the elf forebodingly 'the Dark Gods prepare their inevitable march and their armies seek to sweep across the world' Have these elves also seen what he had seen? Thought Albrecht Krieger with surprise. Had they seen the strange land besieged by darkness, the black city, the red dragon and the raven haired woman? Albrecht's silence must have been telling for he saw a look of recognition in the elf's eyes as he then continued 'the Dark Gods will prove victorious if we do not act'.

'Why tell me then?' asked Albrecht for such information should go to someone like the Graff or the Emperor himself.

'Because you are marked, Albrecht Krieger' said the elf whose use of his name further surprised the Warrior Priest 'the gods have placed their marked on you, just as they have with so many others.'

'Come with us human' spoke the female elf 'for if we are to deny Chaos its victory in the coming war, then we will need to gather as many of us as we can'

'What do mean "us"?' questioned the Warrior Priest for he still had his duties within Middenland.

'Just as Vaul forged the Ninety-Nine blades for the War in Heaven, the Gods will forge Ninety-Nine Champions for the war that is to come' was the rather cryptic reply of the male elf which further confused Albrecht.

'Just come with us human and we will explain on the way!' hissed the female elf in a more urgent manner.

As Albrecht was about to argue again, he noticed that out from the mist from which the elves had stepped out, a grey furred wolf with one eye which was icy blue and the other which was dark yellow. The Grey Wolf quietly walked up between the elves and it simply sat there like an obedient domesticated hound waiting for its master. Sighing with resignation for he knew what the appearance of the Grey Wolf meant, Albrecht lowered his weapon and he walked towards the waiting elves.

As the grey mist began to close in around them and Albrecht thought he could hear the voices of both men and women speaking in a variety of different languages as well as Reikspiel. He glanced about to see who else was in the mist and he saw a warrior dressed in the armour of Kislev's Gryphon Legion. Calling to the Gryphon Legionnaire, he received no reaction from the warrior and at the corner of his eye, he noted more figures.

Albrecht looked around him and see men, dwarfs, elves and even a halfling who each were concealed by the mist. Looking back to the Legionnaire, he saw that the warrior was gone and as he heard the voice of a woman speaking somewhat fearfully in Estalian from behind him. Looking back, he saw a woman dressed in the armour of a Myrmidian Sister of Fury who looked about with confusion. As Albrecht tried to catch her attention the mists surrounded the Estalian and she disappeared from his sight.

What sorcery was this he thought and suddenly he began to feel that dreadfully familiar sensation which was followed by a sickly sweet stench. '_Dum_!' shouted the deep voice of a dwarf and Albrecht Krieger heard the loud roars and screeches as several Daemons broke through the mists. Red Skinned Bloodletters wielding swords which burned with hell-fire strode alongside the diseased cyclopean minions of the Plague God while the lithe handmaidens of Slaanesh cavorted alongside the cackling Horrors of Tzeentch.

A gods-damned trap, thought Albrecht as he lifted his war hammer and was ready to face the Daemons. 'Ulric!' roared the Warrior Priest as he charged headlong into the daemons and he saw that many of the others within the mist did the same. The Daemons were suddenly then engulfed by white flames which reduced them to ashes and a new voice called out them.

Wreathed in a brilliant, shining light, Albrecht saw another elf whose garbs mirrored those of the High Elves of Ulthuan. The newcomer shouted with a voice imbued by sorcery and something began to compel Albrecht to follow the this elf, despite absolutely having no idea on what he was saying. The shining elf then pointed to something near him, a glimmering disc of light leading to where, Albrecht had no idea.

The High Elf then spoke again and once more, Albrecht found that his body rebelled against his will. He found himself to be running towards the glimmering disc, he looked towards the shining elf and for a moment he was able to catch a glimpse of him. Unlike other elves he had seen, this one looked ancient and decrepit with a receding hairline, translucent skin and skeletal features.

Albrecht saw as the others who were in the mists ran straight into the shimmering disc, seemingly against their will as well. As he ran, he heard the shouts of rage from the Chaos Daemons before an intense heat and the force of an explosion like that of a black powder bomb going off. Such was the force of the explosion that Albrecht Krieger was knocked off of his feet and all he began to feel was the chill which seeped into his very soul as darkness clouded his vision.

* * *

><p>Looking up to the clear, starry sky Nicolas de Val Royeaux watched with great interest as he took down notes about the constellations and the movements of the heavens above. For years now, he had studied astronomy within The University of Orlais and all in all, things seemed to be going well for him so far. As he continued to record his observations, he noticed an unusual object in the sky and he quickly placed his right eye upon the section of his telescope which would allow him to catch a closer look.<p>

What he saw was perhaps the most strangest thing he had ever seen. It was a comet to be sure, one which was moving rather slowly in the heavens but what was most distinguishing about its appearance was that it ended with two tails. How unusual he thought with curiosity and he resolved to take further note of this stupendous sighting.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: If you wish to know more about the character, Albrecht Krieger, you can read my previous stories, Knight of Khaine: The White Hunter &amp; Howl of Winter. The character Lothaire on the other hand I originally intended to introduce him as a major supporting character in a future story-arc of my non-crossover stories when the main cast travel from the Empire and into Bretonnia.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

A cold wind blew into the cave as a band of men and women were huddled around a great fire. Thick fur cloaks taken from the hides of bears, wolves and other beasts were wrapped around their bodies, providing them a measure of warmth against the cold while each of them also wore suits of rough hide leather armor. The eyes of the people within the cave were focused upon the multiple pieces of cooking bear meat that were skewered upon sticks which they carried near the flames.

It had been a successful hunt thought Roanoke as he patiently watched two pieces of bear meat cook over the fires. His grey eyes reflected the flames in front of him as he ran calloused hand over his short cropped beard which had once been of a dark brown color in his youth but now had many grey strands. Like the rest of his fellow hunters, Roanoke was clad in thick furs worn over a hauberk of boiled leather while a bow and a woodcutting axe rested close to him.

The bears they had tracked were not only fat and plump but so were their cubs whose meat and hides would also help keep them fed and warm as well as the rest of their clan. As the meat continued to cook, he then looked to his daughter, Alfhild who was also watching their next meal with hungry eyes. Alfhild's hands were outstretched, hovering close to the flames which gave off its life-giving warmth.

Roanoke felt proud of his daughter for despite being only fifteen winters, it was her arrow which struck the killing blow on the bear patriarch while its mate took several more arrows before being put down. He was thankful to the gods that no one in their party was hurt and more so that they had found a place to take shelter for the snow outside became a freezing blizzard. It was strange though that the weather would become just like that, especially during this time of the season. Some of the other believed that it was not a good omen while Roanoke himself thought that it was nothing more than mere superstition.

His stomach growled a bit loudly and he looked to Alfhild who gave him an amused smile. How much she looked like her mother he thought a bit sadly with her pale skin, bright reddish red hair and green eyes. A sudden startled look came over his daughter here as she then looked back towards the mouth of the cave where the howling winds could be heard.

'Did you feel that?' asked Alfhild and Roanoke shrugged for the only thing he was feeling now was the cold wind and the hunger inside his belly.

'I could have sworn that there was something… out there' she then said as she got up and began making her way to cave's entrance.

'Don't go too far now!' called Roanoke who trusted his daughter enough not to do anything foolish.

'Everyone! Come quick!' soon came the voice of Alfhild and the urgent tone of which she spoke caused many of his fellow hunters to rise up to their feet with alarm. A brief flush of parental concern coursed through Roanoke as he swiftly began making his way to the cave mouth with the partially cooked bear meat still in hand and he was relieved to still see his daughter in sight. He saw her pointing down at something and when he looked, his eyes widened as he noticed the grey fur pelt of wolf which was worn around a man clad in a suite of metal armor like that of a northern knight.

A fierce looking maul was clenched in the knight's gauntlet and Roanoke wondered how this man even got here for the land of Ferelden was many miles away to the north.

'Should we help him?' asked Alfhild as she looked to them and Roanoke heard his clansmen speak to one another, unsure before one look from his daughter caused them to make up their minds.

Roanoke and another hunter named Erling went towards the fallen warrior and they first tried to flip him over so that the man may lie upon his back. The heavy armor which the knight wore made him extra heavy but soon the two men were able to turn him aside him before dragging the unconscious man into the cave and near the cooking fire to be warmed.

* * *

><p>Many fires burned in the dark distance, filling Arion with a sense of foreboding and perhaps even a bit of fear. Looking to his companions, he raised one hand and made a silent series of gestures which they all understood. Each member of his party were well skilled in the ways of stealth, sabotage and assassination but most importantly was that each of them were intimately familiar with the foes which they faced.<p>

Keeping low under the cover of darkness, they moved along the snowy dunes, each of them wore leather armour with white cloaks to blend in with their surroundings while amulets, rings, belts or other pieces of equipment were imbued to provide protection against the harsh cold. Circling around the camp where enemy sentries stood guard, they already had a good sense of where there were gaps and weaknesses among the pickets. Bestial roars were mixed with the howling winds as the occasional, agonized scream of an unfortunate captive cried out.

Anger and loathing filled Arion as he placed his hands upon the pommels of his twin swords but was forced to keep his temper in check for their mission could not be compromised. Taking a deep breath of the frigid air which was mixed with the faint, foul smell of their foe, he was forced to calm himself, for now. A tingling sensation soon filled the back of his head as they drew closer to the camp and he saw a small group of sentries break away with torches held up.

Darkspawn was the name of these foul creatures who often resided deep below within the tunnels and mines of the dwarves. The fact that there were so many of the damned things on the surface led to one, troubling conclusion. There was a Blight coming and with it, a horde of Darkspawn that would leave a trail of ruin and destruction upon Thedas, something which Arion and the rest of his order, the Grey Wardens, could not allow.

While a small party of four would hardly be sufficient in stopping the entire horde, their skills made them perfect for at least slowing down and harrying the monsters long enough until the armies of Ferelden are rallied into a proper fighting force. He also hoped that his brothers and sisters from Orlais would arrive in time to do their job and he hoped that Duncan would be able to gather enough recruits for the coming war. Until then though, Arion and his party had their duties to complete, even if the chances of success were slim.

His group was composed of other humans such as himself, men and women drawn from all across Thedas for their skills and abilities. There was an assassin from Antiva named Cortez who had some affiliation with the Crows, then there was a Ranger named Anna from the Free Marches who was a good shot with a bow, and finally there was a Shadow named Garth who was a master of poisons, herbs and traps. Arion himself was a duelist from Kirkwall and he was good was quite good at giving his enemies a stand up fight when he needed to.

Their target was a Hurlock Commander who had been leading this rabble against the local wilder tribes with a surprisingly adept degree of cunning and tactical aptitude. Such a creature was one of many that could not be allowed to make it to northwards for if it did, the Hurlock leader would likely become part of a vanguard force that would pave the way for the rest of the horde.

As Arion was about to send orders to his part to move on, he heard a loud and deep voice bellowing a series of profanities in Orlesian and the Wardens looked to one another in puzzlement.

* * *

><p>Feeling the crunch of bone as his mace slammed into the face of a squat monster that looked like a stunted orc and pulverizing its face. Lothaire then sent a back-handed swing from his gauntleted left hand which struck another of the foul things in its jaw and his armoured fist struck the hideous monster with a loud smack that sent it reeling back. Coldness seeped into his very bones and a frigid air that was mixed with a corruption akin to unnatural presence of the Ruinous Powers filled his lungs.<p>

'Back you foul, dirty fiends!' roared the Paladin as he swung his mace one handed into the side of another monster's head and splattering it brains upon the snow.

He had absolutely no idea of where he was and how he had gotten hear. All he remembered was the nightmarish journey through that hellish place where the daemons of Chaos resided and then he came into a library of impossible architecture. A vulture headed daemon had angrily shrilled and shouted at him and before he knew it, he was sent back into the shifting realm, only to end up in this frozen place where had quickly found himself to be surrounded by monsters that were as ugly as orcs.

The squat orc things backed away while making a series of grunting noises with many carrying wicked blades or axes and three he could see were taking aim with bows and crossbow. '_Merde'_ he hissed underneath his helmet as he readied himself for a sprint with archers being his next target. Everything suddenly seemed to slow down around Lothaire as he took in every detail of his surroundings; he saw the hideous faces of his foes, the snow that fell from the sky and the embers of fire that lighted up the darkness.

With a deep inhale of the frigid air, the Paladin quickly broke into a sprint as arrows and bolts were fired at once. He felt the impact as an arrow scraped against the side of his breastplate and was suddenly jerked as another struck his right pauldron but worst of all was the sudden agony he felt as the tip of a crossbow bolt puncture his left greave and into the flesh of his thigh. Through sheer will-power, he remained on the sprint while fighting through the pain and he crushed the skull of another monster that came too close at him with two axes.

His wrathful gaze then settled on the monster that had shot him and he felt his anger rise in vengeance. Roaring a wordless war cry, he rushed the archer with his mace held in both hands and he saw the creature attempt to reload it weapon. Lothaire the swung his mace towards the archer's head with such force that he heard the loud snap of its vertebrae as the head was completely knocked back in an awkward and lethal angle.

Another pair of arrows slammed into his back but thankfully none pierced the armoured plates. Hearing the crunch of heavy footsteps upon the snow, the knight then turned around to see more of the things cautiously converging around him and in the distance, he saw several other monstrosities that were as tell as men. He had no idea exactly what he was fighting, but there was something about them that seemed unnaturally wrong and by his guess, he was probably fighting Chaos tainted mutants.

If these things thought that they had him cornered like a wounded skaven then it would be his obligation to show them the error of such thinking. Bringing his mace up again in a more aggressive stance, Lothaire continued to ignore the pain of his wound as he tightened the grip on his weapon and he looked upon his foes with as much as contempt as if he were fighting against mere greenskins.

* * *

><p>'Is he going to be okay?' asked Alfhild with a bit of concern as she looked towards the unconscious stranger who lay close to the fire.<p>

'I have found no wounds, so he should be fine' shrugged a woman named Nilsine who was knowledgeable in the lore of herbs and medicine. While inspecting the armored stranger for any injuries, the first thing she did was remove his wolf-skull mask and to the collective surprise of the hunters, they found their guest to be an elderly looking man with many scars across his face.

In his hands, Roanoke studied the wolf-skull mask which the stranger wore and by his guess, the old man was a shaman of sorts for he had noticed the charms made from wolf fangs, a horn that was etched with symbols and the pouches which contained dried powders. From what clan the old man hailed from though, Roanoke had no idea for the armor which the stranger was of a design the hunter had never seen. He also noticed that one of the charm which the old man carried was composed of a thin leather lace attached to two large fangs which came from a beast that was not known to him for it was too large and too thick to belong to a wolf or a bear, perhaps a boar he thought but no there was something off about them.

The maul which the old man carried was also quite unusual for it was not as heavy-looking or massive as most hammers Roanoke had seen. He had also noticed the coating of ice which covered the hammer's head and both the hunter and his party realized that it must be imbued with magic. Now that he thought about it, he had never seen a shaman who carried arms and armor aside from robes and a staff.

With a shrug, he decided to question the old man later, besides, it was unlikely anyway that they would be leaving the cave soon for the blizzard still raged on, and they had nothing else to do now aside from making their guest feel comfortable until he awakens. As the cold wind continued to howl outside of the cave, Roanoke noticed a rather foul stench akin to rotten meat begin to waft in. The other hunters noticed it as well for they had begun to pick up their bows and quivers.

Loud bestial voices were heard and all eyes were quickly turned towards the cavern entrance where several dark figures could be seen. Darkspawn, came the horrified realization of Roanoke for he had heard stories of the creatures being seen across the south but had dismissed them as wild tales. The Darkspawn gave a series of savage warcries that were filled with bloodlust as they began to rush into the cave with weapons raised.

The air between the hunters and the Darkspawn was soon filled with a volley of arrows that felled many of those at the front while the monsters at the back shoved their wounded forward or even used the bodies as shields. Drawing another arrow from his quiver, Roanoke sighted down on a tall, man-sized Darkspawn that was just as hideous as the others and he fired a shot that flew straight and true into its right eye. Quickly throwing down his bow and picking up his axe, Roanoke held it in both hands as if he were holding on to a great axe.

His fellow clansmen pulled off what last shots they could before switching to close combat weapons as well and charging into the incoming monsters. Fear gripped the heart of the hunter as he drew closer to the Darkspawn and it granted him a sense of desperation that gave way to both clarity and determination to survive. With an overhead chop, his axe which was often used to fell trees proved just as effective with flesh and bone for it buried itself in the skull of a stunted Darkspawn with loud wet crack.

Kicking the creature off his axe blade and swinging it downward to the nearest monster that came at him, Roanoke gashed the neck of a larger darkspawn and spilling foul burning blood all over him. Screams of pain, anger and terror filled the cave as his clansmen fought and died under the blades of the darkspawn and he was overwhelmed with concern for his daughter. He wanted to call out to Alfhild but before he could, he saw an armored darkspawn wielding a mace and shield come at him and he was forced to jump back to avoid having his head smashed in.

Landing on his feet, he knew that if he were to be distracted, even by just a little, it would mean only death for him. Readying himself for another attack, Roanoke charged into the darkspawn with axe raised in a murderous arc.

* * *

><p>The Darkspawn camp was now all up in arms as several of the creatures rushed to where the armored, horned helmeted knight stood. A ring of corpses surrounded the man who cursed at the monsters in Orlesian while his mace was now slick with blood, flesh, bone and brain matter. This knight fought with great skill, thought Arion with quite amazement and approval as he remained behind the cover of a hill for while the unknown stranger bled from many wounds, he still stood his ground and looked ready to take on more of the things.<p>

'We should help him' quietly said Anna as she as drew an arrow from her quiver.

'Si, I agree with the Señorita' came the voice of Cortez who drew a pair of daggers which were likely coated with a potent poison.

Garth of course remained silent as usual but a simple nod from him made it clear that he too was in agreement. Arion surveyed the gathered Darkspawn for a moment and his eyes widened in surprise when he caught sight of the Hurlock Commander they had sought. Clad in barbaric armor that was colored dark yellow and wearing an intimidating horned helmet, the Grey Warden quickly informed his company of the enemy leader and soon they were able to devise a plan.

Anna would remain on the hill and use her bow pick off the Darkspawn while Arion himself would try to draw as much attention to himself as possible with Garth to back him up and Cortez to assassinate the Hurlock Commander. Another loud roar echoed across the camp as the armored stranger crushed the ribcage of a genlock and he followed up by knocking a Hurlock off of its feet with a strike to the gut. Performing a series of silent hand signals, Arion ordered them to move out.

Drawing his one of his two weapons which were both rune-imbued Saw Swords made from White Steel, the Grey Warden advanced over the hill as quietly as he possibly could. The battle within the camp raged on and to his further surprise, he saw the knight continue to stand and fight as blades and bludgeons struck against him. At a closer look, he quickly noticed the unfamiliar design of the knight's armor and the heraldry of the hart's head with the black and red behind it.

Perhaps the knight was a Chevalier from Serault? He did not know and if the stranger was then the man was just as much a long way from home as the Grey Wardens were. Creeping up to a bow armed Hurlock that was busy taking aim, Arion quickly used his left hand to grab the archer by the chin and he used his right hand sword to slit its throat. Blood sprayed all over the snow as the archer fell to its knees and Arion quickly pulled out his second sword and he charged right into the fray.

The Grey Warden Duelist became a whirling wind of flashing steel as his twin swords moved with a fluid grace. Darkspawn who yet did not know of his presence soon found out as their heads were parted from their necks or arteries were rent open. Both of the blades which he carried were enchanted with two runes of Momentum which granted him extra speed and a Paragon Silverite Rune which was especially effective against the Darkspawn.

Delivering a Dual-sweep which simultaneously cut down two Genlocks two his side and a below the belt kick which struck a Hurlock in the crotch, he then swung both blades in reverse gripped scissoring strike that decapitated the unfortunate Darkspawn. As more of the monstrous things attacked him, he saw two Darkspawn quickly go down with arrows to the eyes and he heard the shattering of glass as flasks filled with corrosive acids broke on the exposed heads of Hurlocks and dousing their comrades in a burning alchemical mixture. The attack of the Wardens was both swift and brutal as bodies fell to the ground.

Jumping back to avoid the overhead slash of a great sword, he came face to face with the Hurlock Commander who wore a hideous tabard-like piece of clothing that looked to be made from crudely stitched, human flesh. Underneath its fearsome horned helmet and the glittering eyes which peered through its visor, Arion could see the calculating intellect that gleamed within. The Darkspawn Commander raised it great sword upwards into an aggressive stance with both hands holding on to the hilt and it loudly roared before charging him with the tip of the blade pointing towards him.

Bracing himself for the possibility of meeting the Hurlock's charge head on, he saw a swift, shadowy movement from behind which the Darkspawn seemed to sense. Spinning around with its great sword following it, the Hurlock Commander struck only air as Cortez ducked underneath the swing and he thrust his twin daggers up into the Darkspawn's neck which was not protected by any sort of armor. The Antivan Assassin's blades slipped into the flesh of the Hurlock and when he pulled his weapons out, foul blood gushed out in a torrent.

The remaining Darkspawn were for a moment stunned by the death of their leader but the Wardens did not give the monsters time to recover and already, they were quick to go back on the assault. Regrouping with Garth and Cortez whose blades were now coated in Darkspawn blood, the three Grey Wardens fought as a group with each man watching out for the other while arrows from Anna still found their marks. Like wheat brought before a scythe, the monsters were cut down in droves by the swift blades of the Wardens and the single knight who now stood upon a small mound of corpses.

The Darkspawn soon renewed their assault upon the party of Wardens and the knight, the former of which were of course prepared for such a thing and soon the night air was filled with the din of battle.

* * *

><p>Roanoke buried his axe into the neck of another Darkspawn before kicking the monster to the cavern floor and he swung it up towards another. His axe struck the shield of one of the taller Darkspawn which also carried a cruel looking, curved sword in its hands. The Darkspawn countered by slamming its shield into the face of Roanoke whose vision blackened for a moment as agony coursed through his skull.<p>

'Da!' came the voice of his daughter and he briefly heard the whistle of an arrow which was followed by a shout of pain. As his vision cleared up, Roanoke saw the sword and shield wielding Darkspawn collapse to its knees with an arrow lodged into one side of its neck and the tip protruding from the other.

Looking to his daughter and briefly wishing to thank her, Roanoke saw one of the smaller Darkspawn leap out from the shadows towards Alfhild with twin dagger. 'Behind you!' he shouted with terror filling his heart and he saw his daughter turn around in time to catch a glimpse of her attacker. The Darkspawn then brought its daggers down upon Alfhild who gasped and tried to take a step back but ended up tripping and falling on her rump.

Roanoke saw the blades barely miss his daughter's neck as she fell and had she not tripped and just stood there for less than a second longer, the daggers would have struck home. As much as he wanted to go and protect his daughter, he found that he could not for the Darkspawn and his battling clansmen blocked his path…

With eyes widened in fear, Alfhild saw the hideous, stocky creature advancing towards her with two daggers held in a reverse grip. She could see its sharp, bestial teeth which grinned at her with its ugly flat face, bald, spotted scalp, pointy ears and its eyes reminded her too much of a serpent's own. Having dropped her bow when she fell, Alfhild reached for her hunting knife which was still placed in its leather sheath over the left side of her waist.

The monster then leapt towards her with its arms raised and its maw widely opened to let loose a feral roar of bloodlust. Crawling back and trying to get away from the monster as it drew closer, Alfhild's heart began to beat as quickly as a drum and with such force that a small part of her feared that it would just explode underneath her breast. Drawing her knife which seemed pitifully small against the short yet bulky monster, she knew that her chances did not look too good now, she tightened the grip on her weapon and Alfhild watched with perfect, horrid clarity as her attacker plunged its daggers towards her and how she saw a heavy metallic object flying towards her attacker's head.

With a loud smack of metal upon flesh, Alfhild saw the head of the monster explode in a shower of bone and gristle with each gruesome piece clattering against the ground and the caverns walls like pieces of ice. The body of the monster was knocked to the ground by the impact from what to her surprise was the hammer of the old man they had found. A slow clatter of plates came from the direction of the fire where a shadowed figure rose and she saw the stranger walk towards his thrown weapon.

She saw that the old man whom her father believed was a shaman, now radiated with an aura of white fire that sent a chill into her veins. One of the old man's eyes was blind and milky white while the other was green in color yet there was something about it which looked more like the eye of a beast rather than a man. She heard the old man whisper something in a foreign tongue she did not understand as he picked up his hammer and she began to feel a strange tingling within her sense.

Alfhild's fear of the monsters was soon replaced by an irrational hatred and rage which began to cloud her thoughts. Baring her teeth and snarling with a pent up fury she could not explain, she saw the old man throw his head back and he unleashed a loud wolf-like howl that drowned out the sound of the battle. Red filled the vision of Alfhild as she got back up to her feet and she held her knife in a reverse grip while grabbing one of the daggers from her attacker.

Before she knew it, Alfhild was already in the thick of the fighting with her knife and dagger becoming slick with dark, burning blood. She barely noticed the similar change that had fallen upon her fellow clan members, she did not see the faces twisted in savage fury nor number of things she killed. All that filled the mind of the young girl was the desire to kill and to rend the flesh of these things that dared to attack her clan.

* * *

><p>Delivering a mighty swing that crushed the skull of another monster, Lothaire finally saw that their numbers began to thin out. Feeling a small measure of relief, the Paladin pushed himself further despite the pain and exhaustion to keep on fighting. The white cloaked figures of whom were also battling against the mutants, fought with an amazing degree of coordination and teamwork that was like a watching a band of expert duelists.<p>

Confident that these figures were at least human as well, the Paladin turned his attention back to killing things with his mace. Another of the taller mutants came at him with a great axe held high over its head and Lothaire thrust his weapon towards it like a spear and he crushed the breastplate it wore along with its ribcage and it fell to the bloodied ground. The Paladin then delivered a coup-de-grace by smashing the side of its skull with a low swing and he quickly went on the offensive again and he killed more and more of the monsters until finally those who remained began to flee the Paladin and the white cloaked strangers.

Allowing the monsters to flee, Lothaire gave himself a moment to catch his breath as he still felt the adrenaline coursing through his system and he noticed that the strangers were likewise allowing the things to run. Soon the campsite was filled only with the burning campfire and cooling corpses as a tense silence fell upon them. Lowering his bloodied mace and resting its head upon the corpse-strewn, snowy ground, the Paladin quietly offered a prayer in thanks to the Lady for his survival before he would begin to tend to his wound.

Taking a seat on the body of one monster and using his mace to help set himself down, Lothaire winced in pain for there was still a crossbow bolt lodged into his left thigh and he had also been struck several times with swords, axes and bludgeoning weapons. He softly cursed, as he suddenly remembered that he left his healing draughts and other medicinal items which were in the satchels attached to his steed's saddle. Hoping to the Lady that she would be kind enough to grant him a blessing to stave off infection and disease until his wounds were cleaned and healed, Lothaire sometimes wished that he could make use of holy powers like the priests could like a healing one.

'Hail there Ser Knight' came the voice of one of the strangers who spoke in a thickly accented Breton and Lothaire saw one of the three cloaked individuals come towards him with blades sheathed. The stranger then pulled down the hood of his cloak to reveal a fair skinned man with shoulder-length brown hair, a thick stubble and eyes of a similar colour.

Lothaire nodded and replied with a bit of caution 'Hail and well met stranger, may I ask where we are at the moment and what were those foul things?' The white cloaked stranger gave Lothaire a questioning and somewhat surprised look and at a closer notice, the Paladin noticed the equipment which the stranger wore and he guessed that the man and his companions must be rangers.

'You… you don't know where you are?' asked the white cloaked fellow and the Paladin also noticed the other strangers pulling down their hoods and at least they looked human enough as well.

'I do not, that is why I am asking' said Lothaire who at the corner of his eye, he also noticed an incoming fourth ranger wielding a bow.

'We are in the frozen realms south of Ferelden, Ser Knight' the ranger then said which drew the curiosity of Lothaire who had never even heard of a country called Ferelden. 'It is best if you head up north and join the muster for the Darkspawn are no doubt preparing for another Blight upon the lands' added the ranger.

'Darkspawn? Blight?' questioned Lothaire who had also never heard of creatures called the Darkspawn, surely they must be facing some form of Chaos Mutants? Could it be that he was somewhere close to the dreaded Chaos Wastes?

One of the rangers, a swarthy skinned man who had the look of an Estalian then said something to the first man in a foreign tongue and he noticed that the other ranger, a rather shifty looking, bald headed man with pale skin and tattoos was also looking about the area with caution. A brief word was passed between them and Lothaire could have sworn that he heard them speaking in the language used by the barbarian people of Albion.

'We must leave now Ser Knight' announced the ranger he had talked to in a rather urgent tone 'we will tend to your wounds for now but we must go afterwards.'

There must be more of the fiends coming then thought the Paladin for while he had no fear of fighting more of the things, he was currently not in any condition to fight at full strength. Lothaire then nodded to the ranger he saw the bald headed man move towards him while pulling out a leather case which looked to contain a number of medical tools. Oh great thought Lothaire a bit caustically, a trip to the Barber Surgeon, wonderful...

* * *

><p>Breathing heavily as the irrational rage which had consumed him begun to fade, Roanoke looked about with sheer surprise at the number of dead Darkspawn that were strewn about. His leather gloves were slick with the blood of the creatures and his axe was even more notched and scratched than before as a viscous liquid dripped from its edge. His clansmen seemed just as confused and surprised as well when they saw the ruin they had wrought upon the Darkspawn who all now lay still and unmoving with the bodies of their kin strewn amongst the dead.<p>

Men and women soon began to call to their fallen, checking to see who was still alive and who had wounds that needed tending to. He then looked about with alarm to see if Alfhild was all right and his heart was filled with relief when he saw his daughter seated on one side of the cavern and feeling the side of her forehead where only a small bump had lightly swollen up. His daughter then looked to him with relief as well and she called to him and asked if he was injured as well and his response was simply just having a mere flesh wound.

Among those of his clansmen who could still stand, he was glad to see Nilsine tending to a wounded Erling with a medicinal salve. As he moved to help the nearest of his injured clansmen, he heard the sound of metal plates jangling from the direction towards the cave entrance and he saw the old man head towards them with a Darkspawn blood spattering his armor and the foul head of one of the taller creatures was tightly clenched in one hand. The eyes of many of the hunters fell upon the old man who gave them an impassive look before speaking in a tongue he knew not the meaning.

'Did you see him da?' asked Alfhild with a bit of fear as glanced towards the old man 'he used some sort of magic on us.'

Superstitious fear began to fill up Roanoke as their suspicions about the old man being a shaman was just confirmed, he wasn't sure if he should be thanking the gods just yet. The old man then asked something toward them in his language again and none among their clan understood. They met his speech with silence as the shaman said something again and it was only now that Roanoke noticed that the old man was blind in one eye and yet the sheer intensity from the other one made him feel like a rabbit cornered by a wolf.

The shaman then turned his gaze towards Alvor who had last held on to the old man's horn and the clansman was quick to return the object which the old man quietly took. Another unknown series of words were then spoken by the old man which also seemed like a question.

'I have no idea what you are saying' said Roanoke out loud towards the old man who fixed his one eye upon them. Again the old man said something unknown to them and when neither Roanoke nor his other clansmen said anything in response, he seemed to have just given up.

The old man then quietly began to watch them for a moment before he moved towards the fire where just a while ago, they had been preparing their meals. He saw the old man retrieve his wolf-skull mask a which he placed over his face. Questions filled the mind of Roanoke about who this shaman was but first things first, his clansmen needed hi.

He hoped that they could leave the cave soon though for he could see how badly injured some of his clansmen were and from his experience, some looked like they would even need to be carried out. They needed to inform the Thane and the clan's shaman of the Darkspawn threat so close to their current campsight. Organizing everyone else to the best of his abilities, Roanoke hoped that the blizzard would subside soon for something told him that they had not seen the last of the Darkspawn


End file.
